


Son of Calamity

by Daryl_Alenko



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 006 Decided To Join the Party, Addams-Style Shenanigans, M/M, Someone Is Secretly An Addams, The Not Addams One Reacts WAY TOO WELL To The Addams-Style Shenanigans, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: It turns out someone in MI6 is actually an Addams. This is their story!
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 29
Kudos: 85





	1. Calamity Addams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jujukittychick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujukittychick/gifts).



> This first chapter will be short, because it's a basic background/introduction. Chapter two will be the start of the story.

It starts like this .... there once was a rather large family of 'freaks.' It spanned many generations both living and dead because these freaks are special. They are magic and mayhem in equal measure. It's almost as if they were born of Goth itself. Now, this magical mayhem family of freaks numbered in the hundreds. There were rumors that they might number in the thousands, but that is a thought too scary to ponder!

This family bare the name Addams. At the core of our story, we have 8 members. Granny, Fester, Gomez, Morticia, Wednesday, Calamity, Pugsley, and Jeevit. A more loving, oddball family never existed! 

For this story, we shall assume that you are familiar with the Addams Family, though two of these names are not known to you. Calamity and Jeevit. 

In many ways, Calamity is an ordinary middle child. She's quiet, unobtrusive, and in comparison to the rest of her family, rather tame. But do not, in any way, mistake such a thing for normality. The least odd can still be rather odd, after all.

Where Wednesday and Pugsley liked to chase after each other with a machete or mace, Calamity preferred to sit and read about poisonous plants and infectious diseases. Many a time, she lent herself to her siblings so that they could play autopsy, so long as she could continue reading about the bubonic plague as they sliced and diced. In this way, she was an ideal sister.

However, the first time she had to be retrieved from the belly of Mother's prized plant .... it became obvious that she would never like to play the same as her brother and sister. In fact, more often than not, she found places to hide on the vast estate, sometimes for days on end, just to avoid their games. Which is why it came as no surprise to her Mother and Father when, on her 10th birthday, she asked to be sent to boarding school. 

Of course, Mummy and Daddums were all to happy to give their precious child whatever she wished, so brochures for all the top spots began showing up within a few days.

Mt. Cyanide School For Wayward Girls.

The Psycho Elite Retreat.

Hangman's Home for Hostile Humours.

Even the most prestigious ... The Lizzie Borden Academy for Promising Young Ladies.

While Pugsley thought it wonderful and advantageous that their sister would be getting the kind of top notch education she so obviously wanted, Wednesday viewed it as a slight. To her young heart, it felt as if her little sister was running away. She often wondered if that is how her Father felt when Uncle Fester vanished. 

In the end, Calamity surprised her family once again when she chose a little known school simply called The Academy, a London based all girl school. The brochure was stark and to the point, choosing to display facts as opposed to bragging. It suited little Calamity just fine. It angered Wednesday beyond belief. Not that the stoic young lady ever showed it.

So, two weeks after deciding what school to attend, little Calamity packed her bags. Granny made sure she took plenty of powdered cyanide to spice her food. Uncle Fester gave her his favorite lightbulb to remember him by. Thing gave her a perfectly wretched wrist scarf that she promised to always wear. Mummy and Dad'ums hugged her, kissed her, and made her promise to visit often. Pugsley gave her his favorite sword and bade her solemnly promise that she would always write. And Wednesday .... well, her older sister sat up in the attic beheading dollies rather than say goodbye. 

School was a most strange experience for the young girl. Here, there were no afternoon explosions or human eating plants the size of a car. No games of electric chair or machete fights. No one begged to slice her open and study her innards. Instead, there was a large, quiet library where she could read to her hearts content without anyone disturbing her. There were dorm rooms where no siblings burst in day and night with demands upon her time. 

Of course, that is not to say the school didn't have it's downside as well. The other girls gave her strange looks when she read about infectious diseases. They shook their heads and clicked their tongues when she tried to talk about witches and magic. In their opinions, she was too old for so-called fairytales. 

So, even though the school is the school of Calamity's dreams, she feels isolated and alone. Even when she hid from her siblings, she was never truly alone. 

For several years she suffered this isolation. Every time she visited home for the holidays, she reassured Mummy and Dad'ums that she enjoyed her school and her studies, making sure that she never lied. She would then soak up the moments of sibling attention before it became unbearable and she got to return to campus. 

By the time she was 17 years old, she was convinced that she would never fit in anywhere. Both her family's world and the 'normal' world had proven to be at odds with her personality. Thus dooming her to a life of displacement, or so her poor, wretched, teenage heart assumed. 

And then it happened.

She met -him-. 

Andrew. 

A dashing Scotsman five years her senior, Andrew arrived in a whirlwind of brotherly affection to see his sister. Who just happened to be Calamity's dormmate at the time. As Andrew was fussing over his little sister, presenting her with hugs and presents, his gaze continually drifted to the odd beauty sitting on a chair in the corner.

With the same delicate, pallid features and long black hair as her Mother, Calamity was far more beautiful than she realized. Where her fellow classmates referred to her as pale and odd, many young men found themselves hopelessly smitten. Unfortunately, they assumed a prized beauty such as herself must already have far too many suitors to choose from, causing them to walk away feeling dejected rather than just approach her. 

But not Andrew. On his second visit, while his sister was busy searching for her coat, he walked right up to Calamity and boldly asked her to accompany them to supper. By the end of the night, both were smitten. By the next year, they were dating. 

And on Calamity's 21 first birthday, Andrew was introduced to the Addams family. Imagine her surprise when, after learning just how odd and altogether inhuman her family was ... Andrew proposed that very night! 

The wedding was a truly Addams affair, taking place in the vast family cemetery with every member in attendance. Even those that required special dispensation to be released from various types of confinement. Poor Andrew's family did not take too kindly to Calamity's. In fact, her new mother-in-law fainted at her first sight of Lurch, then again at her first look at Thing. By the time she met Cousin It, she was sobbing uncontrollably. By some miracle, Calamity managed to stop Granny from feeding the woman a concoction that would have assuredly killed the poor, normal woman. 

Two years later, Calamity changed her name to Monique two weeks before they welcomed their beautiful son into the world. Imagine the chaos of the waiting room when the core of the Addams family walked in! Especially when the happy grandfather Gomez handed his teenage son a cigar in celebration! 

When it came time to name the little one, Morticia held her sweaty, half asleep daughter in her arms and proclaimed that Calamity had officially lived up to her name, because her son would be a beautiful, witty blight on the world.

Though Calamity and Andrew chose a name for their son, he would forever be known as Jeevit Addams to the family. 

Unfortunately, only a few years later, Calamity and Andrew would be dead, eventually leading to Jeevit joining MI6.

This is his story.


	2. Death Becomes Him

MI6 is impressive. From the outside, it's a commonplace building that looks suited to cubicle work. After all, one cannot advertise the existence of a spy organization headquarters and hope to remain intact. But on the inside? Well, it's basically a madhouse. You have emotionally disturbed Double 0 Agents running amok, Q branch minions experimenting on everything and everyone, and M waltzing about with a permanent, impressive, judging scowl on her beautiful, aged features.

Basically, unless you're crazier than crazy, stay out of MI6.

On this particular morning, Q feels as if he should really be avoiding his place of employment. In fact, if he thought he could get away with calling in sick, he would've done so. However, Eve has a habit of stopping by his place to ensure that he is actually under the weather when he calls off. He's currently sitting on strike number 2 of her 3 strike policy. -HER- policy, not that of MI6. As long as there isn't an emergency, M is rather lenient toward Q, allowing him to take whatever time he needs, much to the consternation of the other employees. More than once, he has heard several Double 0s demanding to know -why- Q was so special. -WHY- he was given certain leeway that no one else was. Of course, they had never been so foolish as to bring that question directly to M. Most of them enjoyed their balls exactly where they are, thank you very much. (Those lacking balls tended to leave M and Q's business alone, proving that women are often smarter than men.) 

He has not even entered the building yet, but he is already done with this day. Fully prepared to NOPE OUT at the top of his lungs and run back home. When he first woke up, his coffee maker was on the fritz, keeping him from having his customary cuppa as he was getting ready for work. He had spent so much time working on the piece of machinery, that he was running late and nearly missed his morning transportation. Meaning that the poor boffin had to run full tilt this morning, with no real energy in his system. Even now, as he almost limps yet power walks for the entrance of MI6, he is feeling the shakiness of caffeine withdrawal coupled with the basic lack of energy, and it has set his mood to the highest of irate levels. 

So of course, today would be the day that he would find himself face to face with his Arch Nemesis. Or, well, one of them. 

"Q!" The delighted, Russian brogue of 006 cuts through the usual noise of people entering and exiting the building, and Q can feel himself cringing long before he actually sets eyes on the man. There's something about 006's boisterous, over the top personality that puts Q in mind of a greatuncle he had never actually met, only heard stories of. Or, well, the greatuncle had been present in his formative years, but when his parents passed ... he had never seen the man again. So, he is little more than a vague memory of a smile that could magically light up a room, and a laugh that was awkward, chuffing, but infectious. 

"My little videniye! (Vision)" 006's voice is practically a purr of affectionate tones and Q honestly thinks he feels his stomach turn over. Though, upon reflection, that -might- be the lack of caffeine. "Ten minutes earlier .. if you'd been ten minutes earlier, I could've given you a pat down, my videniye! (Vision)" A muscle under Q's eye jumps and he finds himself sighing deeply. He reaches into the crumpled pocket of his slacks and pulls out a fancy fountain pen. 

"006 .. unless you want to experience the joys of field surgery via vasectomy with a fountain pen, kindly clear out of my way." His voice doesn't waver, doesn't change pitch, timbre, volume, or tone, but it's enough of a threat that OO6 immediately raises his hands in a defensive, I come in peace gesture and takes three healthy steps back from the boffin.

"Now now, my sweet Q. Is that any way to treat a devoted worshiper?" Q's hand tightens on the pen and 006 takes another healthy step back, hands still in the air. Good, he's learning. "Right. Then allow me to make it up to you, videniye. (Vision) I will have a perfect cup of tea down to you in precisely ten minutes." 006 promptly about faces and takes off at a brisk walk, leaving Q to calmly place his pen back in his pockets and head toward Q branch.

* * *

Precisely ten minutes after taking off, 006 arrives in Q branch with a large travel mug in hand, whistling to himself as he clears the sea of minions. He makes his way to Q's office, knuckles rapping sharply against the door before he simply barges in. 

Q is standing behind his desk, one hand firmly clutched on his hip, the other hand leafing through a collection of papers that seem to have somehow personally offended him given the deep set glare he's giving them. It amuses 006 no end though he's smart enough to keep that truth to himself.

"I come with manna from heaven, oh great Q." 006 offers the travel mug with a mighty flourish that causes Q to sigh deeply. And yet, he takes his hand away from the papers to hold it out toward the agent. "Will this offering win me the right to bask in your warmth, dear, sweet Overlord?" 

"... saraleo! (Asshole)" Q mutters the word two seconds before snapping his fingers sharply three times. 006 jumps and immediately presses the travel mug carefully into his hand. 

"Why do you always choose the languages I can't actually speak, to insult me in?" Q carefully removes the top of the mug, blowing a few breaths across it as the fragrant steam works to calm his frazzled nerves. Not that anyone would be able to look at him and tell that he's frazzled at all.

"Because it makes life more interesting when you don't know what I'm saying, my dear. Besides ... I know that you'll be so bothered by it, that you'll look it up as soon as you walk away, and that amuses me." Q flashes a momentary smile before he sets the mug down and once more begins to rifle through the pages.

"Leave it to you to find learning something amusing. But alas, if it is the only way to understand your sweet nothings, I will continue to learn. Now, what did you call me, again?"

"..... saraleo. (Asshole) It's not spelled anywhere like it's pronounced, so have fun, dear. Now leave." He doesn't bother to banish 006 with a proper hand motion, seeing as both hands are currently occupied.

"As you wish, oh fearless Overlord." 006 goes so far as to bow several times as he backs out of the office, smirking in that way that seems to infuriate Q. The Quartermaster has just enough time to release a gentle, pent breath and start to relax, when there's another knock on his door.

"Quartermaster, 007 is on the coms, requesting backup." Q curses under his breath even as he grabs his mug and heads out into the main area.

* * *

"Ahh, Quartermaster, how kind of you to finally join me! It's not as if this is a tense situation or anything." 007's pompous voice does little to rattle Q. He carefully places his mug on the desk in front of him as he allows his gaze to wash over the array of monitors in front of him. 

"It's not my fault that every thing with you seems to be life or death, Bond. I'm sure the act of brushing your teeth is life or death. One moment." He ignores whatever rejoinder Bond might have in favor of typing something into the keyboard before him, sharp eyes taking in every angle change as real time data streams across the various screens. 

"Blimey, 007. You have truly managed to cock this all up, haven't you?" He doesn't mean to slip so far from professional, but he means it all the same. The Agent is -nowhere- near where he's supposed to be. So much so, that for a split second, Q wonders if he has somehow gotten the wrong mission file, but within the next breath, he knows that isn't true. 

"What can I say .. I am a master of many things, Q. Now, kindly get on with it, hmm?" The sound of bullets ricocheting too close for comfort sends Q reeling forward. He stiffens even as one hand moves to grasp his hip, the other hand pressing fingers tightly on the desk beside the keyboard. 

"If you rush me, you up your chances of dying, Bond." He grits his teeth as he says this, eyes still scanning the screens.

"Death isn't a concern, Quartermaster. Getting out of here quickly is." Q snorts, wonders why the man thinks he is exempt from death. Sure, there are those that actually -do- seem to be immune to death, but he doubts Bond knows anything about that. Err, them.

"Shut. Up." He barks the order out and everyone is surprised when Bond instantly goes quiet. He may love clapping back, may have a tendency to push as hard against orders as he can, but he also knows when to shut the hell up and let others do their job. Like now.

"Right, then. Take your first left and travel the length of the hallway. There's two gunmen laying in wait in an alcove at the end." The sound of gun fire and running feet is quickly met with more gunfire and a slight wheeze from Bond. "Right. In the alcove, there's a window and beneath it, about a three and a half foot drop onto some scaffolding. After that .. well, shimmy like you've never shimmied before, Bond." He finds himself rocking back on his feet even as a burst of chilling laughter echoes over the coms.

"Honestly, only you could ever get away with a line like that, Q." Bond grunts with exertion, the sound of a window sliding causing Q to hold his breath. "How in the bloody hell did you know a great big scaffold would be sitting here?" The question is more for Bond to concentrate on than anything, but Q snorts and answers anyway.

"I am Q. Need you know any more than that, Bond?"

"No, dear, I need not. Who would dare question our sweet, brilliant Overlord?"

"I swear to all things holy and unholy, if you and 006 don't stop having conversations about me, I'm going to randomly taser you both from now until your last days at MI6." 

"Is that a promise, Quartermaster?" Q rolls his eyes and clenches his hand into a fist against his hip, even as he uses the other to pull up another camera angle.

"Damn it, Bond! They have mobilized units on the ground. Get down now!" Even as he says the word now, he can hear the buzzing of bullets whizzing past Bond's head, and he feels his heart jump into his throat. "Bond!" He growls the name, puling up a program on a side monitor and nearly gasping when it shows Bond's vitals all over the place. Blood pressure and heart rate are up, spiking and then just as suddenly, they go flat. Still.

"Bond ..... Bond .... 007 .... BOND!" He calls and calls, even as he stares at the flatline on the screen. As he tries to will it to start up again. Death .. is something that will never make sense to him. He doesn't understand -how- death can be permanent. It shouldn't be. For some people, it isn't.

"... inform M that the mission is a failure .. that we have lost 007's vitals." With a slight tremble to his voice, he turns and heads to his office, forgetting his half cold mug of tea as he locks himself up behind his closed door.

* * *

For four days, Q has been kipping in his office so that he doesn't have to leave Q branch. For four days he has been surviving on catnaps, Earl Grey, and righteous fury. All three have been used in combination to make sure that the two agents remaining in the field come home. It is no secret that the loss of Bond has hit the Quartermaster rather hard. Even 006 has cut out all shenanigans and instead, silently been at Q's beck and call. He has done every thing from make sure that the Quartermaster is properly supplied with tea, to standing guard at the door while Q took his few short naps. No one was going to get past him while the Quartermaster was vulnerable.

Well, almost no one.

Q is awoken from a deep, albeit brief sleep by the sound of something rustling in his office. Given the fact that he's a boffin with no real field experience, everyone assumes that he is .. soft, for lack of a better term. In many ways, he is. In others .. not so much. He will not kill as a first resort, but he can do so if need be. His first instinct is not to run, as most think, but to wound and go on from there. As a boffin, he knows more than most how quickly situations can change and how necessary it is to adapt. 

This level of basic underestimation is probably the only reason he manages to get the drop on the intruder. Because said intruder assumes he is still resting peacefully in the nest of blankets on his small couch. Which is why they don't expect the gun pressed to their neck or the hand clasped like a vice on their shoulder.

"Now this, I did not expect. It was odd enough, seeing Alec guarding your door like a loyal hound. But to find you alert and armed .. color me surprised, Quartermaster." There's an actual note of awe buried deep in the voice of 007, and some part of Q cannot help but be proud. The rest of him, however, is damn well pissed right the fuck off! He snarls even as he smashes his fist against his desk lamp button to turn it on.

And sure enough, there is 007, in the flesh. His features are pale, blood splattered across his cheek, torn suit, and legs. Q can see at least three different spots of injury, but the man is managing under his own steam. Barely. Which further brings in to question the fact that he managed to get past Q's guard dog. Q puts the gun down three seconds before he punches 007. The agent stumbles back with a grunt, hand pressed to the bruise blooming on his jaw. 

"The hell did you learn to hit like that?" 

"My parents had me trained before they died. Most of my family are also rather fierce, and a few exes taught me a few things along the way."

"What the did you hit me for?" Q growls, reaches up to yank his glasses off and sets them on his desk. Bond, in a spectacular display of self preservation that is almost ALWAYS lacking, manages to keep the desk between them. 

"Do you want the whole bloody list?! For starters, you've had four fucking DAYS to get in touch with someone, -anyone- at MI6 to let us know you were alive. For seconds, you should've carried your half dead carcass to the infirmary rather than Q branch. And thirdly ... I damn well wanted to, you mazed prat!" Q knows that he has officially left professional far behind, but he's too incensed to care. 

"Q." Bond's voice has dropped all pretense of playful, flirty, or anything other than surprisingly ragged and sincere. "I'm okay, lad. I'm standing right here, and I'm okay. I told you .. death wasn't really a concern." That just further fans the flame of his rage.

"It's fucking DEATH, Bond! It concerns almost -everyone-." Q rears back, intent on sending another punch, but Bond is already to the door by then. "Report your arse to M right this minute, and then carry your arse to infirmary." Bond is smart enough not to argue. Instead, he pretty much yeets himself out of the door as Q collapses on the couch, trying to catch his breath.

* * *

In the end, Bond completed his mission, was forced to take three weeks down time, and was smart enough to send Alec with all of his gifts rather than darken Q branch himself. Though all of the downtime meant that Q received dozens of texts per day to bug the hell out of him.

* * *

"Listen, if there was ever a moment in which I do -not- have time for Frick and Frack, it's -now-, gentlemen." Q's voice is a little rougher than usual, fatigue tickling at his senses and making him feel a little ... off. However, he's not lying when he says that he doesn't have the time right now. He barely has a moment to take care of himself, let alone a moment to handle 00's 6 and 7 in his domain. 

"Come now, videniye! (Vision) Surely you have a minute to stop and have a bit of your precious tea, yes?" 006 is practically begging despite the simple, straight cadence of his voice. Q and Bond seem to be the only two that can easily distinguish his changes in mood. Bond is understandable, but Q? Neither Bond or Alec have figured out how Q can tell. 

"If not tea, at least stop and have a small bite to eat, Quartermaster. The branch can only function as well as their Overlord does." Q can hear the genuine concern in Bond's voice as well, another thing only he and Alec could really distinguish. And M. But then .. that woman is scary. She's something else, something different, something scary and wonderful, almost magical. 

"I -will- punch you again, Bond. Don't push me." 

"Wait .. -you- punched 007?? When? Where was I for such a miraculous show?" Alec juts his bottom lip out in an over exaggerated pout, and Q is two seconds from pulling his curly hair right out because of these two. He turns to 006, scowling angrily at the larger man.

"-Where- were you? I'd rather like to know the answer to that myself, 006. Seeing as you were -supposed- to be keeping watch at my office door when this prat magically resurrected and snuck in. Fat lot of bloody good you did!" 

"Wait ... Bond, you got past me to see our sweet Overlord? I am sorry I failed you, Q. It will not happen again. Now, about that tea --" 006 barely manages to dance out of range of Q's mighty swinging hand, dodging what would've been a rather impressive bitch slap had it connected. Bond swallows a chuckle, clearing his throat.

"Now now, Quartermaster .. whatever you're doing can wait a few minutes more, I think." And this would be the moment that Q snaps. He jerks to a full stand, eyes sparking with anger. His hands have migrated to clutched behind his back as he stares the two 00's down. 

"In point of fact, it cannot, Agent Bond. This weapon should've been tested two days ago, but a certain agent was misbehaving that day. Add the meetings all day yesterday, and I am far behind schedule. This is far more important than tea and sandwiches. Please excuse me." He turns on a dime, walking briskly away from the two frowning 00's. It takes only a few moments before they are at his heels, the ever loyal guard dogs.

"Then it seems all the more reason the two of us should tag along, videniye. (Vision)" 006 has dropped all pretense of teasing and coaxing, letting Q know that he has no intention of being turned away or denied.

"Alec is right, Quartermaster. You know us 00's .. we absolutely love our toys. Allow us to help you test them." Bond is no longer teasing, sultry, or any of the other facades usually in place. Instead, he's just as sincere as he had been when reassuring Q that he was, indeed, alive. Much like his friend/fellow agent, he has no intention of standing on the sideline at the moment. 

"Fine. Whatever. This way." Both 00's share a look of surprise behind Q's back. Neither has ever seen the Quartermaster capitulate so quickly. It is further proof that their dear boy is not functioning at top capacity. Further proof that they need to be right there with him. 

He leads them through the bowels of Q branch to the basic weapons testing facilities. Of course, they have both been here many times before through out their tenure as Agents. It's the favored playground of most 00's when off duty. There have been a few Quartermasters that forbade the Agents from the area, but they always found a way around it. 00's are not ones to be denied, after all.

Q is forcefully dragging himself with each step, despite looking perfectly put together with his usual amount of planned chaos. His hair is a mess, his glasses sitting awkwardly on his nose, and his terrible sweater in place. Another level to that underestimation he relies on so much. 

"Right, then. You two can wait out here, I should only be about twenty minutes or so." Q is so focused on what he has to do, that he misses Alec and Bond facing off against each other. They both count out 1, 2, 3, before throwing Rochambeau. Alec growls when his scissors are bested by rock, Bond smirking smarmily before he turns and makes his way into the room Q had entered.

"Just what do you think you're doing, 007? I told you to wait outside." Q doesn't even look up from the device that he's looming over, frowning at. Bond hmms softly as he moves to settle on a bench against the wall. 

"And I am respectfully throwing that order out, Quartermaster. How am I to watch over you with a wall between us, hmm?" Were Q not so damn worn out, this would be the moment when they would begin to argue with each other. To clapback over and over, volleying their BS back and forth as they usually do. But he's too tired, too busy. He leans a little closer to the device, frowning deeper as he works.

"As you say, Bond." 007 quirks a brow at that rejoinder, as it does not hold the usual fire present between them, but is yet another capitulation that concerns him. 

"Quartermaster .... Q ... I have never known you to be so easily swayed before. Are you alright, my dear?" Q hisses in surprise when he pinches his thumb, lifting his tired gaze to take Bond in. The Agent looks genuinely concerned, but that can easily be faked. Not that he thinks it is fake, but still. He knows that he's in no position to try and judge such things at the moment.

"I am fine, 007. I'm simply trying to concentrate, and you make that hard." His eyes widen behind his glasses, the younger man immediately regretting having said that. He is not the type to let such things slip! He has far more discipline than that, damn it! He clears his throat and goes back to work.

"Sorry, sweet Overlord. I will sit here quietly and be as little of a distraction as I can." Bond preens quietly for a moment, already relishing the thought of informing Alec that he is Q's favorite. An argument they have had on several occasions since the boffin had become Quartermaster. Bond leans loosely back on the bench, ready to spring into action if need be.

And it's a good thing he's prepared. Because within five minutes, Q curses loudly and Bond is on his feet in a second. He has just enough time to make it Q's side before he realizes that something has gone seriously wrong.

"Q!" He grunts the man's designation even as he throws himself around the slighter man and turns his back toward the weapon. 3 .. 2 ... 1 ...

"J-James." Q whimpers the name a few moments before there is the sound of a small explosion. They are thrown across the room, Bond managing by some miracle to turn himself so that his back impacts the far wall, rather than Q impacting it. 

Several minutes pass with the scent of plaster, concrete, and gun powder clogging Q's nose. He manages to lever himself up onto his arm, reaching over to Bond's prone form. Fingers, aching and trembling, covered in soot and blood, search for a pulse. There isn't one.

"J-James ... p-please .." He coughs so violently that he passes out.

* * *

Q awakes with a start, panting for breath. He still imagines he can smell blood and plaster, can feel the heat of impact.

"Q! Calm down." M's voice is as sharp as usual. There is something impersonal and cold about her that puts Q at ease. He knows that it's not normal, to find comfort from such behavior, but he is perfectly alright with the knowledge that he isn't normal. 

"M." He croaks out the designation, carefully pulling himself to a sitting position in the infirmary bed. He is a little surprised when M grabs his pillow and helps proper him up. But then, he remembers .... Bond is dead. That is likely why she is somewhat coddling him at the moment. "Did I miss the memorial?" It hurts, physically and emotionally, to croak that question out. 

"What memorial?" M's eyes are narrowed almost dangerously at him, causing Q to frown deeply.

"007's. Have I missed his memorial?"

"Why on Earth would there be a memorial for 007? He's already out of here, causing more headaches than he is worth." 

"That .. that isn't possible. I felt his pulse .. there wasn't one. Bond -died-." He is angry at this situation. Rather pissed off that he's having to speak about Bond being gone. 

"Q. Bond is just fine. You were concussed .. you've no clue -what- you saw, felt, or anything else. Don't be so difficult." Difficult? The coldhearted bitch thinks he's being -difficult-!? He sucks in a breath, preparing to go off on his Boss in such a way he would never usually attempt.

"Auntie." Bond's voice cuts through the building emotion in Q, instantly dousing his anger and leaving a deep set confusion behind. He -knows- what he saw, what he felt. Bond should be dead. He doesn't -want- him to be dead, but he -should- be.

"I've told you -never- to call me that, child. And I am -still- against this." M glares at Bond even as he walks to Q's bedside and gingerly settles there. Trying his best not to rock the bed too much or disturb his friend. With infinite care, he takes Q's hand into his own. 

"Your objections have been noted, Auntie, but I'm a big boy capable of making my own decisions." M scowls darkly and looks torn between smacking Bond on the back of the head for continuing to address her as such, and simply leaving the room. In the end, she sighs in disgust and leaves.

"007 .. what's going on here? M says I was concussed, but .. I know what I saw. What I -felt-." Bond gently caresses the hand he holds, a faint, sad smile in place.

"How many times have you thought me dead, Boothroyd? A half a dozen, at least." Q's eyes widen at the calling of his last name. It's no secret, though his first name is, but it's not something anyone actually -uses-. "The truth is ... you are correct about what you saw. Sort of." Bond glances toward the door his Aunt exited, sighing.

"While James Bond is my real name .. it's not my only name. My other name ... is Jeevit Addams."


End file.
